


hereafter (ad infinitum)

by larryent



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1700s, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ballet Dancer Louis Tomlinson, Blood Drinking, Bottom Louis, Love Letters, M/M, Painter Harry Styles, San Francisco, Top Harry, Vampire Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryent/pseuds/larryent
Summary: "A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice."On the coast of San Francisco in 2024 is when Harry falls in love all over again.Alternatively titled “ad infinitum”OR“This thing upon me is not deathbut it’s as real,....this thing upon melike a flower a feast,believe meis not death and is not glory.”— Charles Bukowski, old man, dead in a roomlarryent November 2020Disclaimer. Anything with a brand name are not owned by me (places/characters).Do not repost/steal my work.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 37
Kudos: 176
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy !! here's my fic for the BLFF 2020. Major thanks to the kind people running the BLFF this year and for giving me an extension !! Don't forget to check out the other great fics :^)  
> I've always wanted to write a vampire au, and this was a bonus bc it's a soulmate au too !! 
> 
> [Spotify Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TdB6DrYr9YbWMZpqgSDNA?si=Ye-1_kBFQ9i86Ph3P68s8w)
> 
> Prompt:  
> Prompt 538: Vampire/Reincarnation AU. Harry is a vampire in the ancient times and Louis is a normal orphan boy whose only friend is the old witch who lives in the forest. They meet and fall madly in love with each other. Yhe town people are not happy with Louis loving a monster, so they ambush him when Harry is out of town and punish Louis in the center of town by beating him. The old lady tries to stop them, but they beat her badly too. They beat and torture Louis so badly that he dies and the old lady is on the verge of dying when Harry returns and is devastated to see Louis’ state. The old lady tells Harry what happened and also tells him that he’d meet him again, but he’d have to wait for a long time. Harry goes crazy after knowing that the town people killed his Louis and he kills every single thing that breathes in the town and leaves the town red and burning. In present time, Louis is getting comfortable with his city life after moving with his best friend in a new apartment. This is a story about how Louis and Harry find each other again and finally Harry’s decades long wait comes to an end when he finally finds the love of his life again. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- not really major character death bc Louis is alive again but there is a death scene
> 
> Forgive me for skipping out on the vampire Harry smut—after reading it myself, I had to take it out. O-O I’ll be rewriting it once this is posted, so expect it to be added in the epilogue that will be up in the next few days.  
> Smut tags:  
> \- spitting  
> \- Biting (loads) that leads to blood  
> \- So, blood play (?) (but it’s really sweet, not like nasty let me devour you, more like let me savour you.)
> 
> Enjoy :^)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TdB6DrYr9YbWMZpqgSDNA?si=Ye-1_kBFQ9i86Ph3P68s8w)
> 
> Songs: 
> 
> Meet Me In The Hallway - Harry Styles  
> Black Beauty - Lana Del Rey  
> Andante, Andante - ABBA  
> American - Lana Del Rey

* * *

_**August 6, 1759** _

_I saw him again today. He was by the river with an elderly woman. They spoke in hushed whispers. At one moment, he laughed._

_It is as warm as honey, combing over my skin and seeping into my veins. Never has a man, a woman, a human have an effect on me as such._

_I look at him and wonder why I am drawn to him. He is beautiful, no doubt, but is there a reason for holding such enchantment?_

* * *

**October 1985,**

**San Francisco**

Time is a prize without currency.

One can offer gold from gods, jewels from ancient tombs, original masterpieces from dead artists and none of it will convert into more seconds, minutes or days. Time. It slips from fingertips and through the dying breath from one’s lips, a moment becoming a lasting memory in a foggy mind.

On one’s deathbed, is it common to comb through snapshots of past instants? Wishing things had gone differently? Recollecting regrets and flashing through the memory that would be the cover photo for their biography.

There are the missed opportunities and confessions, either said in muted voices in crowded rooms or through eyes in dark closets—but time offers experiences that paint an existence. Colours, mediums and strategies that are magic of ageing, growing and evolving.

It is almost romantic. Time is chased and lost at every corner. Kissing lips and leaving behind polaroids of memories in its wake. It was the lost lover and the one that got away.

People like Harry are blessed and cursed with immortality. As others grow and die, Harry doesn’t change a shade. An artifact that walked the Earth with unlimited life. Harry knows it all too well, he’s frozen in time while the world goes on around him. Train tracks take over valleys, villages become cities and trees grow into skyscrapers. Worst of all, strangers become friends who become another grave in a cemetery leaving Harry to grieve for yet another person.

He slips on a crisp white button-up and tucks it into the band of his slacks, he hesitates to tie his dress shoes and reconsiders his outfit. It made his pale skin appear a little tanned, the white fabric was free of all imperfections, from a speck of dirt to a rogue drop of paint. It was custom to his exact measurements, the pants flared the slightest with gold buttons along the front pockets, matching the small detailing on the collar of his shirt. His broad shoulders fit the material snugly, the sleeves ended at his wrists and left a sliver of his tattoos visible. He checks the time, scratching his beard and deeming it too late to change.

With a last look into his closet, he considers the rack of black suit after black suit, each signifying a friend who became a victim to time. All while Harry was cruelly immune. He takes a breath and prepares himself for another night of boring small talk, interviews and posing for photographs.

It doesn’t feel special anymore. His opening nights have lost the extravagance and glamour. Once it’s over and he’s invited for another, he will get dressed up again. This night will be a memory, a mere frame in the film of this era.

* * *

The entrance of the museum is crowded. Reporters from magazines and television are lined up behind the fence, microphones and cameras are shoved into Harry’s face when he steps onto the carpet. Loneliness was a dear friend of his but Harry finds comfort in the flashing lights of the cameras. He smiles at them, unwavering when their gazes shoot to his sharp white teeth.

Upon his rise to fame decades ago, the public was very wary of his kind for obvious reasons. Vampires weren’t common in densely populated cities, most opted for secluded countrysides in the outskirts. At the beginning of his career, most articles were bashing him, examining his past and writing essays on why he was a threat to civilians.

It seemed that his manager had a hand in rewriting (rather than cleaning) his reputation. Now, stories and interviews were strictly about his work and any upcoming projects. Last year, he was named one of the most eligible bachelors in California. Though, some of the rather confident reports would pry into his private life or ask about his perspective on historical events with the same, _“you were there, you must know more than anyone else.”_

Security guards crowd him. He doesn’t know if it’s to protect him from the public or vice versa. He ignores them and exchanges polite greetings with the reporters and answers a few questions before a guard ushers him inside.

By the door stands the gallery director, an older gentleman with nervous eyes and a dark beard. “Good evening, Mr. Styles.” He swiftly shakes Harry’s hand and speaks of the overwhelming numbers for tonight. With beads of sweat by his hairline, he makes a point to keep a distance as they walk into the museum. Harry notices the white scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, he would be offended if he weren’t used to that behaviour already.

After so many years living among humans, he has developed remarkable self-control that shines even in the most unpleasant situations. He wouldn’t consider drinking from anyone here tonight. The alcohol or drugs in their system would leave a rotten taste in his mouth. 

* * *

In the darkness of his home on the highest floor of the building, Harry drinks alone. While the city lights sparkle down blow. The moonlight shines on the green, white and yellow striped walls, its reflection lying in the red liquid of his wine glass.

The small lamp illuminates the journal in his hands and the pen drags along the page. He writes with one person in his mind and tells them about the events of tonight. It’s difficult to talk to someone and not receive a response. Of course, Harry could make friends or call the ones he has to drown out the solitude but he doesn’t want to because the only person he wants _isn’t here._

_‘My hands have reached and my lips have begged to a god who never responded.’_

He takes another long sip from the glass then sets it down on the wooden end table.

_‘And my hope is wearing thin, but I know I have to wait for you. I cannot leave you here to live alone. Even I am not that cruel.’_

Perhaps he was born into deadliness and was bound to wander aimlessly. His purpose to suffer, grieve and wear the dwindling faith around his neck.

Looking down at his glass, Harry is met with emptiness. The muted classical music hums, playing a song that Harry remembers watching the live performance of and now, the musician was long gone and all that remains is her sound.

Harry grabs the red bottle, twisting off the cap and downing it. It drips down the corners of his mouth, spilling down his chest and staining his white dressing gown. It lacks the freshness and warmth that came from drinking directly from the source, but it wasn’t the worst he’s had. _At least it wasn’t 1918 anymore._

He was as modest as a vampire gets, he didn’t go around in the middle of the night and prey on unfortunate souls. Instead, he locks himself in his penthouse, drowning in stale blood that was clean of any diseases or sickness. It was expensive but he could afford it.

Some of Harry’s friends are blessed with volunteers, and it baffles him how they can use others so easily. When he considers drinking from someone, his dark past lunges at him with the eyes of his mistakes. Pools of red around a wide pupil, it was always red. 

* * *

**“There is a loneliness in this world so great**

**that you can see it in the slow movement of**

**the hands of a clock.”**

— **Charles Bukowski, the crunch**

* * *

**December 2022**

“Last box?”

“I hope so.” Louis drops the cardboard box on the floor, dust puffs into the air. He waves a hand in his face as the light flickers on.

“When I said we should be roommates, I was thinking you’d take a backpack and your wallet.”

“I’m not eighteen anymore,” Louis mutters, glaring at the moon peeking from behind the curtains. He’s been awake for nearly twenty hours and would rather not remember his runaway rebellious phase. It’s ironic because Zayn was worse than him and yet he was just poking fun since he was probably _still mad_.

“It would have taken the entire night if I had done it alone,” Louis offers his friend a tired smile, “thank you for helping me.”

“I think you mean, _thank you for turning down the opportunity to attend an exclusive retrospective opening night where you would have the chance to interview a world-renown artist_ — _thus, disregarding that tonight alone could have given you the promotion you’ve been dying for.”_ Zayn tries to mimic Louis’ voice but it’s quite terrible, then he stands straight and points a finger, “Because then, you’re welcome.”

That confirms it, Zayn was still mad.

“Seriously, you should have donated the clothes you didn’t wear anymore.” Zayn cracks his back. The after-effects of carrying boxes up three flights of stairs for hours was an unpleasant sore that will eventually turn into an awful ache in the morning.

“I did. These are the ones I want to keep.”

“You have too many clothes. You always buy more when you haven’t worn what you already have.” Zayn mutters, slapping the doorframe on his way out.

“You’re the same!”

Louis plops on the small couch, looking over the posters and framed photographs pinned on the panelled walls. There was a messy desk with a printer in the corner, next to a bunch of camera equipment. He can’t help but feel giddy. Finally far away from his tiny hometown and horrid stepfather, he drinks up the freedom like a starved man.

Louis says he moved away but that was a part of the truth. Saying he was kicked out gave the wrong idea, but it was more accurate in a sense. After his mother got remarried, his life had turned upside down.

There was tension choking him every time he walked through the front door. All radiating off the asshole that his mother married. A man who never kept his mouth shut and thought he had control over Louis’ life the moment he moved in. Always asking when Louis was planning on moving out, rambling on about how he needed to grow a spine and gain some independence.

It wasn’t long until family dinners turned into late-night snacks in his bedroom with the door locked. Louis and his mother spoke less and less as the days went on until everything exploded. A fight blooming from something Louis couldn’t even remember, and it lasted for two days until the older man made a sly comment that ended with asking Louis if he was going to finally get out of their hair.

He was only 21 and still working on the courage to get out into the world and pursue his passions. But Louis was never good at holding his tongue and apparently, his fists as well. He’s never been one to turn to violence, but it was beyond satisfying to land a punch on the older man’s nose. That single hit turned into an awful brawl that left a television shattered.

It’s been a few days since then and after a long discussion with his mother, Louis felt it was time to leave. He was thinking of moving to London with his savings and finding a roommate and he told Zayn such over the phone. His best friend coming up with the brilliant idea of Louis purchasing a plane ticket and shipping over his belongings to California instead.

That was the turning point for Louis’ lingering uncertainty. If he wanted that freedom, he could find it in London, but he could also find it in San Francisco with his dearest friend. Sure, there is still a nasty bruise on his rib and a small scar on his eyebrow, but he was happy.

Even though Louis missed his mother, he hoped she was happy as well. Her husband never mistreated her. If anything, he praised her like a queen but always had a bone to pick with Louis. The older man’s persistence pushed Louis to finally leaving their dingy town and be forced to follow his dreams. Maybe one day, Louis will thank him for it.

Truth be told, Louis was afraid of leaving home. The outside world tempted him, but society scared him. A competitive world built on an unfair hierarchy where social class was everything. Louis was never one to give up easily and that same head-strong determination will be his lucky charm.

Although his new room could use some major redecorating since it was currently Zayn’s office, Louis was thankful nonetheless. He slumps, his eyes slowly slipping shut as (unfamiliar but) usual city traffic sounds lull him to sleep but Louis jumps at the sound of pots and pans clattering.

“You hungry?” A voice calls.

Louis slowly stands and stretches with a yawn. He walks down the stairs, tapping on the railing then jumping down the last steps. “Yeah, what have you got?” He enters the kitchen with a hand on his stomach.

Zayn swings open the fridge, one hand in the pocket of his blue jeans. “I have frozen pizza, burger patties—but no bread, and more pizza.”

Louis sits on a barstool, running his fingers through his hair. It was long enough to curl at his ears and the base of his neck, mullets were quite trendy now. “What kind of pizza?”

“Veggie.”

“As in?”

“Yes, it has mushrooms.”

Louis gags.

“If you pick it off before it goes in the oven, you can’t even taste the mushrooms,” Zayn says and takes out the box. Long strands falling in his face and the dark circles around his eyes mirror Louis’ equally exhausted state.

Louis shrugs, propping an elbow on the counter and asks Zayn about his work. His passion for art helped him to pursue a career in photography, then he took a liking to journalism and went from there.

If he thinks hard enough, he could recall the exact day he met Zayn. It was in middle school in winter during recess, Louis and his friends were building a snow fort. Their gloves had gone wet and cold, noses coloured a cherry red and they were running out of snow. Louis had wandered the yard and found a tall pile of white snow, and of course, he took it all back to his friends. Turns out, it was Zayn’s friend's pile and they were in the process of building a snowman before Louis had stolen it all. Things had escalated to a snowball fight that ended with both boys in the principal's office.

The rivalry dragged on for a few years before they attended the same high school. It was an art school, Louis went for dance and Zayn went for visual arts. Almost naturally, they grew close and within four years, they were best friends. That was until Zayn left their hometown to go to a college in the city while Louis took a year off, which admittedly, turned into two years.

One day, Louis got a call from America and it was Zayn who had taken off after dropping out of school. He didn’t even answer all of Louis’ questions that day, only saying he was safe and staying with distant relatives.

That turned out to be a lie. Zayn was staying with some random people he met, a major red flag on Louis’ end. Those people didn’t end up being too terrible and Zayn says he still talks to them every now and then.

As the months fly by and Louis gets acquainted with San Francisco. The coastal city life was different from the small town he grew up in. It was strange to go from living in a tiny house with constant pressure on his chest to a townhouse on a busy street with his best friend with sweet, sweet freedom. When Zayn isn’t writing for the city newspaper, he takes Louis around the city, dragging him to local tourist spots, drive-ins and his favourite restaurants and bars.

Zayn also takes the liberty of introducing Louis to his friends. They fall together in perfect harmony and get along, going out and drinking or playing board games late into the night. A refreshing change of regularly hanging out with people his own age. In particular, two of Zayn’s friends who work at the sub shop next door come over quite often. One is a blond named Niall and the other is Cleo, who has one of the strongest American accents that Louis’ ever heard. 

* * *

**June 2023**

On a hot summer night, Louis walks in to find the entire living room lit up with fairy lights, colourful streamers draped from the ceiling. Music playing from a distant speaker while a cake with _congrats_ written in pink frosting sits on the coffee table.

He stands at the front door with wide eyes and grocery bags in hand. “What—”

“Congrats!” Cleo shouts, tackling him into a hug as the bags fall to the floor. Her fluffy collar nearly poked Louis in the eye. “I knew you could do it.”

“Do what?” When Cleo releases him, Louis is swept off the ground and into strong arms. “Niall, put me down!”

Niall may have a kind smile and sweet blue eyes, but he seems to forget Louis is much smaller than him and swings him wildly. “You should rest those pretty feet! You’re gonna be using them a lot now.”

“Put me down!” Louis screams and pulls Niall’s hair like he’d fly away, which is exactly what it felt like was going to happen.

“All right, all right, don’t hurt him now,” Zayn says from the couch, he pats the spot next to him. “Put him here.”

With a graceful thump, Louis is dropped on the cushions. Almost immediately, the answering machine is shoved in his face. He vaguely remembers making fun of Zayn for having it because, in his opinion, cell phones were far more useful than a home telephone.

“What?” He asks as Zayn presses the button and the voicemail rings out.

_“Hi, Louis, this is Heidi Diaz. I am the principal choreographer and artistic director at SFBallet and I have just reviewed your resume, past performance footage and photos. We would like to invite you to audition next week on Tuesday at 3:00 pm. Please call us back when you have the chance. I hope you have a great evening.”_

Louis tears up during the voicemail, a hand flying over his mouth to cover his squeal. The rush of relief mixed with anxiety is almost too overwhelming and his throat goes tight. Before he could fully break down, Zayn wraps him in his arms. He brushes a hand through Louis’ long hair, squeezing him tight enough to express how proud he is. Louis cries into his shoulder, tears of excitement staining his red-shirt.

He has the chance to get his dream job, he could almost taste it. He couldn’t wait to call his mother and tell her. Louis, although almost forced to leave home, could be doing what he loves on an elegant stage in a beautiful city. 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TdB6DrYr9YbWMZpqgSDNA?si=Ye-1_kBFQ9i86Ph3P68s8w)
> 
> Songs:   
> Young & Beautiful - Lana Del Rey  
> Enchanted - Taylor Swift  
> invisible string - Taylor Swift  
> From The Dining Table - Harry Styles

**August 2023**

At the loud bang of his bedroom door, Louis jumps and sends a glare at Zayn. He ignores his rather rude friend and continues stretching, legs in a full split with pointed toes and his front is pressed flat to the floor.

“May I help you?” His voice is muffled. When he doesn’t receive a reply, he switches positions with his leg easily behind his head. “Hello?”

Zayn is scrawling messily on in a notebook. Tucked into his black jeans is a loose striped shirt hanging off his narrow shoulders. His dark hair is buzzed at the sides, the top in a neat quiff. “What questions would you ask the heir to a million-dollar car company?”

“Future plans for the business—” Louis cranes his neck, “What are they looking to do down the road.”

Zayn fixes his glasses, biting on the end of the pen. “What about personal questions? People love to read gossip.”

Louis stands and props his leg on the bar by the window in another exercise for his routine. “Ask about lovers, both past and potential ones.”

“I could ask about their impressions of rival heirs, the possible merging of companies.” The dark-haired man writes in the notepad, before walking away. “Good luck for tonight! We’ll celebrate at Jimmy’s tomorrow with everyone else.”

“Not really looking to get drunk on a Sunday.”

“Yeah, you say that now.” Says Zayn’s distant voice. 

* * *

_**September 9, 1759** _

_Perhaps, it was foolish of me to think that such feelings would fade._

_A smile. That is all it took. With one glance in my direction on the outskirts of town, a simple grin on his lips, and he blossomed into a beacon of gold. He has me under a spell—of what? And why?_

* * *

**November 2023**

There’s a tall white brick building with wide arched windows and banners waving in the evening breeze. Green bushes covered in autumn leaves on either side of the stairs leading up to the front doors under the gleaming sign, _San Francisco Ballet._

Harry tucks his hands into pockets with an unamused face. “Why are we here?”

The wind coils around them, red and orange leaves skipping on the pavement. With a crooked hat, Liam checks his watch. “I have been to a few of their shows and it is always better than the last. Tonight is a classic, the Nutcracker.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Harry phrases differently. “I have seen plenty of shows and this one will be just another on the list.”

“Seeing plenty is not the same as seeing this one.” Liam says with a pointed look, “And I wanted your input, I’m considering investing in them—the company and the academy.”

“Interesting,” Harry replies dryly.

“I’m expanding my horizon—”

“As if you have not had enough time to do that already, old man.” Harry clears his throat. “If I recall correctly, you still have fantasies about that vampire you met before the Civil War. What was her name… was it Wilma?”

“Whitney and I still see her, we meet for dinner every fifty years. And yes, I’m the old one when you are older than the invention of the raincoat. My, my, all those centuries you spent getting drenched in the rain.” Is Liam’s reply, pale skin glowing under the dim streetlight.

“You are hilarious. No wonder Whitney sees you every fifty years.”

Liam laughs, patting Harry on the shoulder. “I take things slow.”

“Too slow.”

“You’re grumpy.” Liam sings, giving Harry a small slip of paper. “You need to start enjoying yourself. Go and find our seats, I need to speak with the director.”

Silk drips from the high ceilings, columns and stone railings line the upper gallery that overlook the lower floor. An overwhelming wave of perfumes and colognes hit Harry’s nose and the chatter grows louder as he walks deeper into the room. People are dressed in neutral tones, standing around the circular platform at the base of a grand staircase, shiny glasses in each of their hands.

He’s not surprised that they’re all humans. Although his kind wasn’t ridiculed as often anymore, most vampires hid away from crowded cities. Harry had tried that lifestyle a few decades back but found it even lonelier and at least in a city, he could distract himself and pretend he wasn’t alone.

He was thankful to have a few friends close around, Liam in particular. A man of his kind that Harry met while in Paris just before the 1800’s ended. Harry had been travelling the country, finding refuge in a small town in England during a snowy winter. One day, he met Liam. _‘Met’_ wouldn’t be the word to describe it considering Liam’s argument with the bartender was drowning out Harry’s conversation with a local about train arrival times. And before Harry could jump at the chance to meet another vampire, Liam left the bar in a huff.

They crossed paths again in the 1930s, somewhere in Australia. It was another night in an unfamiliar town in a different bar where Harry was sitting at the piano playing a rendition of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Liam, once again, arguing with the bartender. This time, Harry overheard a couple of words, the two that most stood out were the ones Liam shouted the loudest; _blood and unfair._

At this time in history, plenty of the population were terrified of their kind. Hence the long disgusted glares that Harry received every day. Looking back, Harry can remember the few humans who would offer kindness, but blood being served in a bar was never thought of, much less considered.

Liam, the man who made it his mission to not be seen as a monster, got heated whenever bartenders and waiters would deny his request for a glass of blood—rightfully so, in their eyes at least. This time around, Harry and Liam spoke to each other. Harry listening to Liam rant about the double-edged sword, _“I want to be peaceful but I don’t want to starve and I don’t want to harm any humans. All I ask is for us to be served as any other being. If my existence relies on one thing, then I shall receive it, correct? But if I get that myself, I am the demon they want me to be. What do they expect us to do? Hunting wild animals can only do so much, the nutrition is lacking. As if not drinking at all.”_

The two of them grew a deep friendship as the years dragged on. Never straying too far, always staying in contact. Now, Liam has moved from New York to San Francisco and insists on bringing Harry out of his penthouse every Friday night.

Harry finds their seat numbers in the grand tier at the very front. Like the rest of the chairs, they were crushed red velvet. He slips off his trench coat, laying it over the armrest. His clothes were different from the rest of the guests. Instead of a plain black suit, he chose a fitting white button-up tucked into peach coloured pants, and black suspenders. He watches the orchestra file in, their instruments catch the light. A shimmering gold curtain was elegantly draped on the stage, matching the angel statues outlining it. And above hangs a bright chandelier from the ceiling that’s painted blue with faded white spots—resembling the sky on a July summer day.

Harry reads over the brochure about the performance, eyeglasses on the tip of his nose. He almost doesn’t notice Liam sitting beside him but he does notice the glass in Liam’s hand, the thick red liquid sloshing against the sides. “They serve that here?” The shock in his voice makes Liam laugh. One whiff has sirens going off in Harry’s head, it wasn’t animal blood, it was human.

Liam nods, red-stained lips in a smile. “Most places in California do and it isn’t from revolting animals, which is one of the reasons why I moved. The rest of the country seems to move slower in that department, but of course you wouldn’t be aware of that trend since you buy your supply from some random guy.”

“I order it from a distribution founded by our government.” _Who knows where the humans got that from, was it strung with a disease?_ At least Harry knows he could trust the government of their own kind. Not only that, but a part of Harry was still uncomfortable drinking in the presence of others, even if it was from a glass. Years of isolation still lingering within.

Liam makes a show of taking a long gulp. “For this place specifically, critics come here often and most are like us.”

Harry weighs the options, if Liam was drinking so openly in public, perhaps he could as well? He was supposed to enjoy himself tonight and maybe he was a little lacking in the recent news. “What do they have?”

“A, B, AB, O and all are available in negative or positive. You are welcome.”

And Liam teases him, talking and waving the glass as Harry’s eyes follow it. Minutes go by before Harry stops shaking his leg to finally stand. He excuses himself and travels down to the bar.

When Harry hears the music begin, he is just grabbing his glass. He hurries up the stairs and down the hall to a familiar door. He walks along the aisle to the front and to his seat, Liam is sitting there with a focused expression on his face.

The stage is set up in a winter theme, fake snow projected on the background with painted house windows. A tall tree on the corner of the stage parallel from the staircase. Dancers enter from both sides, clad in sleeping gowns with their hair curled atop their head. The lead, Harry supposes, is the woman in the white gown with a bow in her brown hair. She steps down the stairs with a shining smile.

Harry truly didn’t expect to get invested in the story. The blood long forgotten on the floor. His eyes are glued on the nutcracker as he glides across the stage, dancing with the music rather than to it.

There is a fluidity in his motions, each movement was poised and confident. Framing his frail shoulders is a silver jacket lined with black and decorated with large buttons. White pants outlining the muscles in his legs, not shy around his plump behind.

He sits up straight when the nutcracker’s mask is taken off.

With his sharp cheekbones, he looks deadly under the spotlight but it’s weighed out by the rose colour of his cheeks that mirrored the pink of his lips. Eyelids dusted with a shimmer that brought out his electric blue eyes. At that moment, the ice shatters beneath Harry’s feet and the cause is the blue waterfall on the stage. Harry becomes a victim of the deep, slipping into the caressing waves.

* * *

_**September 27, 1759** _

_He spoke to me today. He asked me where I lived, claiming he has only seen me in the woods and by the river but never in the village._

_I told him I had a house in the forest._

_He lives in the village at an orphanage. He takes care of the children with the woman who raised him._

* * *

**December 2023**

It was obscure to say the least. The canvas was taking up a large portion of the wall with a gold frame. It was covered in different tints and shades of the same colour of blue. Some Louis didn’t know existed. Others were so pale it looked white and others dark enough that it was almost black.

**_‘Harry Styles_ **

_Do you dream? (2023)_

_Oil on canvas’_

“Any critiques?”

Louis turns to the voice. A tall man in a black suit smiles at him, brown eyes behind a pair of frameless glasses. “I don’t think I’m one to critique something I know nothing about.”

“Wise answer,” the man remarks, “but through mere visual observation, as someone who has no background knowledge, what do you think?”

Louis faces the painting once again. This was a big event according to Zayn, it was a grand opening of a retrospective by the same artist he missed when Louis first moved here. It felt only fair to leave Zayn be, but because Louis’ birthday is next week, his friend asked him to attend as his plus one but losing Zayn was not on Louis’ birthday list and it happened anyway. He’s spent the last hour wandering the museum but found this particular painting intriguing.

He must have been staring at it for a while now, since the stranger asked him about it. “It looks like a photograph—the gates, clouds, snow and the reflection in the ice. The angels are pretty.” It was like a glimpse of heaven in a winter wonderland, angels with feathery wings and clouds sprinkled with snowflakes. The gates, wide and alluring. 

“Do you like it?”

Louis nods. “I haven’t seen anything like it, I think it's the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The man’s pink lips stretch into an amused smile. “You should tell the artist that.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps they will give it to you.”

Louis’ eyes go wide. “Why on Earth would they do that? Jesus, I don’t even know where I would put it. I like it so much that I don’t even want other people to look at it.”

“I’m quite flattered at your possessiveness.” Another voice says, and Louis looks to the owner.

This man had stronger features with similar pale skin that glowed under the white lights. He had a tall and wide stature, broad shoulders under a dark green suit jacket, the lapels lined with white that matched his button-up and shoes. Louis scans him up and down, gaze lingering on his pink lips under his moustache and above his short beard. His eyes were intense and the same shade as his suit, the green framed by dark eyelashes. Louis had no doubt that he could probably send a deadly threat with just his eyes.

At that moment, a waiter dressed with a red tie comes, holding a tray with two tall glasses of thick red liquid. The brown-eyed man thanks him, placing a bill on his try. The other man takes a glass with two fingers, his eyes trained on Louis. They were watching him, almost studying him.

“Are you interested in it?” His voice is deep and raspy, an American twang in his British accent.

“I don’t think I could afford it.”

“I didn’t ask that. Are you interested in it?” He repeats.

Louis’ palms start to get clammy. It would impolite to deny, especially after he was caught gawking at it. As magnificent as the painting was, Louis wouldn’t accept it as a gift, even if it was from the artist himself. “Uh—where would I even put it?”

“In your home.”

The man, the artist, brings the glass to his lips in a slow sip. The red paints his lips and his teeth.

Realization washes over Louis, sinking into his bones and freezing him where he stands. The glowing eyes, the pale skin and of course, the blood in the wine glass.

He’s read about vampires during school and even considered studying them in college but to see them before him and to speak to them was fulfilling the unknown fantasy he had. How Zayn managed to skip over the fact the artist was a vampire was beyond him.

The textbooks and lectures hadn’t mentioned they could be so smooth and calm, almost radiating a taste of class and power. They were projected as cold, dry unforgiving creatures with deadly fangs that could send one to their deathbed. The paragraphs in old textbooks were about the eternal monsters, writing them as a never-ending fear that suffocated humanity. But these _men_ were far from that. They were hypnotizing. Remarkable even. 

* * *

**_October 1, 1759_ **

_“Do you dream?” was how he greeted me today. When I did not reply, he rambled about the town’s stories of vampires never needing sleep nor rest. He said, "I do not know if you sleep but if you do not, do you dream?”_

_I said, "A daydream is the closest I get to an actual dream.”_

* * *

What is the nature of man?

If it is good, has it been tainted with greed for power and treasure? Is it coloured red from the history of discrimination and genocides? Was it ever kind and benevolent? Could it be? Some would say that objectives are driven by entitlement and profit, jealousy and anger weaving through intention and writing dark agendas.

Perhaps people are more than their nature and they can write themselves instead. Lying in an array of prophecies is the map to the destination of fulfillment, a different one for every individual.

Harry would say he’s on his journey. His adventure turned out to be centuries-long, and only now is he getting a glimpse of the end. He believes that the nature of his kind was different from the nature of himself. They were made to kill, to feed off other living beings for their survival. To be stronger and faster than any other species and forever reign victorious in the race against age and time. They were cast as demons, so that is what they became. Those twisted stories became reality and many of his kind were punished for it.

Anger breeds anger, and vampires were feeding off that since the birth of their existence. That was why he stayed far from villages when he was changed, not only was his thirst uncontrollable but he didn’t want to live up to expectations and become a _monster_. The small details he could remember about his human life were minimal, only flashes of his childhood with his parents before someone, something had bit him when he was 26? Or was it 27? Harry would have to find his first journal to figure that out.

He had gone clean for nearly forty years. Only feeding off wild animals when he needed to, he lived on the edge of a village deep in the woods. And that was when he met his beloved. He was the first being, the first human to show him humanity. To look at him with fascination and love instead of disgust and fear. He had opened Harry’s eyes and melted his ice soul. Because of him, Harry believed there was more to him than his curse.

Many argued whether vampires had souls. Calling them horrid creatures who feed off the lives of the living have souls. For Harry, there was no doubting the presence of a soul within him. It had stemmed from when he had met his soulmate. Their love had gone so much deeper than the shattered surface and bloomed flowers of beauty and grew wings of chance. How could these feelings, such adoration and passion be possible if he were soulless?

* * *

_**October 11, 1759** _

_His name is Louis. A lovely name, I think. It suits him. The delicacy of it, the ring it has—it is like an angel choir. He and I are closer now. Or at least I think we are. He sits next to me while I fish by the river. He does not say much, but when he does, it is the highlight of my day._

* * *


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TdB6DrYr9YbWMZpqgSDNA?si=Ye-1_kBFQ9i86Ph3P68s8w)
> 
> Songs:  
> Two Slow Dancers - Mitski  
> She Lays Down - The 1975  
> Everything - MUNA  
> No Choir - Florence + The Machine

[Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TdB6DrYr9YbWMZpqgSDNA?si=V6_IE_hiSgSphga1_q0j7Q)

* * *

**January 2024**

* * *

_Dear Louis,_

_Yes, I know your name. I also know your address and please forgive me for invading your privacy. I hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself._

_Your performance in the Nutcracker was a core inspiration for this work. It only makes sense that you have the only copy._

_Please call me if the painting is damaged during shipping and I will paint you another._

— _Harry Styles_

* * *

“Fuck, do you know how much this is worth? It’s an original. A fucking original.”

“I say fourteen grand, easily. Maybe more if it was the only copy.”

Louis looks up from the letter, two pairs of curious eyes stare back at him. He nods. “He says it’s the only one.”

“Twenty grand. At least.”

“Fuck.” Niall says, it’s like the only word he knows. “What the hell did you do to him to get this?”

Louis groans, flopping onto the couch. “Nothing.”

“You have to tell me if you’ve got powers.” Niall sits next to him, his work uniform still on. When he saw Louis and Zayn struggling to drag a huge box up the stairs, he offered to help and didn’t leave until the box was opened. The contents were surprising to everyone, especially Louis, because why on Earth would _Harry Styles_ give a one of a kind original to him after they’ve only met once?

* * *

**February 2024**

“Good morning.”

Louis jumps, coffee nearly spilling over his hands. He spins, eyes growing wide at the man before him. Standing tall and firm was Harry, the sun casting a shadow on his face from the cap on his head as he stood in gym shorts and a t-shirt. Skin pale and contrasting against his lips that were drawn in a small smile.

“Did you receive the painting?” His deep voice drawls.

Louis nods, trying not to look at the fabric that clung to Harry’s sweaty torso. “I said I didn’t want it.” _But he also really loves it._ Every day, Louis will find himself staring at the artwork that hung above his bed and then his mind would drift to the artist himself.

“You said you couldn't afford it. Which is why, it's free.”

The vampire’s green eyes studied him like the night at the museum, and behind them was a glint of something Louis couldn’t decipher. “Harry, I can’t accept it—” He catches sight of the approaching streetcar.

“Art makes a place a home.”

“What?’

“Did it arrive okay?” Harry steps before him when Louis makes a move to leave, his wide frame nearly pinning Louis to the wall.

“Yes!” The streetcar is seconds away, if Louis doesn’t leave now, he’s going to miss it. And he would rather not be late for work.

“Was the delivery man kind to you?” Harry still hasn’t moved. In fact, he leans closer, his musky smell overpowering Louis’ coffee.

Louis looks up at him, “What?—I have to go to work.”

“If he wasn’t, I can have a word with his supervisor.”

“Harry—”

The vampire smiles down at him, “How is your day going? Your hair looks perfect at that length. And although I didn’t explicitly state that the gift requires a thank-you call, I was a bit disappointed when I didn’t get one.”

Louis quite literally shoves him out of the way, a little voice in his head pleading for personal space while another squeals about meeting Harry a second time. The push took most of Louis’ force but Harry only takes one step back, posture and gaze unwavering. His shocked expression made Louis feel guilty.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Louis apologies, _he shouldn’t go around pushing gorgeous vampires,_ “I just really have to get to work but I do have to properly thank you for the painting. I can call you if you aren’t busy.”

Harry smiles and nods. “I will not be too busy for you.”

* * *

**_October 30, 1759_ **

_I wonder if he knows I think of him._

_I hope he does._

* * *

**March 2024**

As soon as Harry enters his home, he goes straight to his studio. Louis’ scent lingered on his scarf because the man wore it for their day by the shoreline.

Harry could almost still hear his voice, the delicate chime lulling him sweetly. The fresh memory of his muse on the walls of his mind, beckoning him, inspiring him. It courses through his veins under his skin, burning him from the inside out. Harry paints as if his life depends on it. He’s drunk on the flavour of his presence.

Harry spins, knocking blue paint all over the tarp on the floor. He falls to his knees with a breath.

His vision blurs and is replaced with the oh-so-familiar face of his beloved. Harry has longed for this feeling—the overwhelming joy, he has found the treasure at the end of the journey again.

His lips part in a breathless smile. If he was alive, his heart would be hammering in his chest with immense glee, like he’s sunbathing on a bed of clouds. He laughs like a mad man, dipping his fingertips into the colour that has enchanted him for centuries. Flair strikes like lightning and he’s shoving away carts of paint and brushes, stretching to flatten the tarp with his lip between his teeth. He’s high off the madness of passion.

He forgets about the unfinished paintings and projects and instead focuses the entire night on the beige tarp, using nothing but his hands and the colour blue.

* * *

_**November 8, 1759** _

_We speak almost every day now._

_We walk in the woods, by the water, and_

_When we were bidding farewell—he hugged me. It had been so long since physical contact, I almost did not know how to act._

_He did not flinch from my cold hands. He knows what I am, I told him when we met last week._

_It surprised me that he came the day after. How is he not terrified of me?_

* * *

**May 2024**

There was power in imagination and genius. It grew from the tree of inspiration, standing tall with fruits of nature and the natural. It called a romantic garden home which was where Harry went when he daydreamed.

Harry’s years on Earth have opened him to the knowledge of morality and humanity. He’s witnessed disasters and participated in wars and revolutions. Remained frozen while legends were born and raised on a pedestal until time took them away. A few friends of his kind have stayed, since they were like him. They keep in touch and visit every once in a while but Harry’s loneliness isn’t kind. He’s thankful for one man who has lingered by his side through breakdowns and identity crises.

They formally met Australia. Liam was almost one hundred years younger than him, and far more picky when it came to surviving.

They spent most of their time travelling together and getting to know one another. Harry told him of his beloved, Liam has only heard of soulmates but that folktale died centuries ago. The two vampires lingered in Asia for a while, visiting China and Japan since vampires weren’t common in America because people were blinded by fear. Laws were put in place strictly prohibiting vampires from entering the borders, if they did, it was punished by death. Most of his kind fled to Asia or Europe and went into hiding.

Decades went by and after WWII, the American borders opened for vampires and the world leaders announced that vampires would have their own electives and representatives. Harry could remember it so clearly, he and Liam travelled to Rome for the election. They had met more of their kind, some of which Harry still speaks to. It was a wave of relief after the long drought. One that Harry thought they deserved. 

* * *

Harry and Louis were dating now. Properly enough that Harry felt the need to talk Liam’s ear off about it every Friday when they would go out. Ranting on about Louis’ eyes, or his giggles or how Louis’ hair always falls in his face, so often that he’s started wearing a headband. Harry hoped he never cut his sandy brown hair.

After their walk along the shoreline, Harry was delightfully surprised when Louis called him to ask _him_ out. They went out to the movies and watched a romantic comedy that Louis first called stupid, then after it ended, he proceeded to point out all his favourite parts and basically retell the entire film as if Harry wasn’t next to him. Harry didn’t complain nor stop him because in the theatre, he was watching Louis more than the movie.

They kissed for the first time that night. Harry initiated it, quite suddenly actually. He couldn’t help but kiss him, but that weakness resulted in embarrassment because Louis was in the middle of gushing about the handsome lead role in the film.

_“Sorry,” Harry breathed, “You’re just… You’re one of my favourite people that I’ve ever met.”_

_Silence swirled in the spring wind above their heads. Louis’ hair falling over his wide blue eyes as his lips stayed frozen, parted and pink, just as they were when Harry kissed him._

_“I’m sorry.” Harry apologized again. “I should have asked if I could kiss you before I did.”_

_“Favourite, huh?” Louis quirked a brow, “You mean that?”_

_Harry nods. “Yes but that doesn’t mean I should have kissed you_ — _”_

_This time, Harry was interrupted by Louis kissing him. If Harry was alive, if he was a living being with blood in his veins, his heart would explode. Louis’ lips were so warm, a stark contrast against Harry’s cold ones. Such polar opposites. Louis was just so soft just like the petals of a daisy, delicate from his lips to his fingertips that dug into Harry’s shoulders as he got on his tippy toes. Harry tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a single swipe of his tongue while his hands gripped Louis’ hips, pulling him close._

At that moment, the centuries of waiting seemed worth it if he could taste his mate, his Louis again.

It’s all come together from then. They planned dates and went around the city together, Harry sitting in the grand tier to watch Louis’ performances. He even met Zayn one night. The man couldn’t stop asking questions and their date soon turned into an interview until Louis dragged Harry out by his arm.

Harry adored their regular dates. He loved how natural it felt to just be in Louis’ presence and talk about random things. In their earlier dates, Harry told Louis about the long years he’s spent on Earth. Speaking about travelling the world, meeting famous historians or music icons before they were famous, those were Louis’ favourite to ask about. They frequented little cafes or pizza parlours, and sometimes visited museums that showcased Harry’s work to stroll through the exhibits. They also talked about Louis’ family and his life back in his hometown, and Harry comforted him when he got a little homesick.

It never mattered what they did, Harry drank up Louis’ spirit like a starved man, every last drop of his radiating happiness and confidence.

It was so different from what he would have expected his mate to be from what he remembered him as. His beloved was shy and reserved. The faintest memories of his tender and curious soul gathering flowers in the woods to take back to the orphanage, even though he was allergic to pollen but the children loved flowers. Always looking at Harry with pure love in his eyes, giving him endless attention.

Louis was sweet and tender but in a different way, it was evident in his sleepy morning calls to Harry before he went to work, and when he’d grab Harry’s arm to wrap around his shoulders when they were sitting on the couch.

He looked at Harry like he truly mattered to him, hanging on every word he said, no matter how long it took for him to get his point across. And he always knew the right things to say with the perfect amount of cheekiness behind it.

Louis was loud and vibrant, not timid and quiet.

He skateboarded wherever the streetcars wouldn’t go. He wore whatever he wanted, which was on a spectrum of sorts. One side was ripped, tattered jeans and old band t-shirts, and the other was soft sweatpants or leggings and oversized sweaters. His hair is always in that sweet fringe, the ends curling at the base of his neck and falling into his eyes where he’d gently brush it away with his fingertips.

Different and raw but somehow familiar.

Harry hasn’t dived that deep into his past yet, switching the topic whenever Louis asked about past lovers. That left Louis unaware of just how much their relationship mattered to Harry. How much it weighed on his shoulders that he take this chance and make the best of it. 

Perhaps souls change over eras. Environments and experiences altering characteristics and quirks, renewing an old spirit into something fresh. It was fate that brought them together, and it was fate that brought Louis back.

His beloved was a sweet boy in the woods, and Louis was a lively ray of delight in a big city.

A butterfly that bloomed into a hummingbird. 

* * *

“What title would you give this chapter of your life?”

“ _Good things are coming,_ a lot of things have happened this year, many of which were dreams I never thought I’d accomplish. What about you?”

“Mine would be _Prologue,_ perhaps the beginning of a romance novel.” Harry sips his drink, holding the cellphone between his ear and his shoulder as he flipped through an old sketchbook. “And you would be the main character.”

“You’re cheeky.” Louis giggles. Harry could imagine him curled in bed wearing that pink knitted sweater with sleeves that were far too long.

“Has anything made you smile today?” Harry asks.

“I passed the pet shop on the way home and went in for a little peek. I want a cat, those kittens are always melting my heart.”

“A cat? What breed?”

“Munchkin or Scottish fold, definitely.”

“Interesting.”

“Oh, God, Harry, do not get me a cat, I mean it.” Louis threatens, or at least he tries to because the fond is still audible in his tone. “I still haven’t found a spot for the rocking chair you sent me.”

“You said you wanted it.” Harry purses his lips, smiling.

“I said it was nice…” Louis trails off, “I liked the detailing and thought it would match my rug.”

“And it does match, right, little bird?” Harry teases. “That kind of classic oak is hard to come by these days, especially in a great quality vintage item like your chair.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. “Fine! Yes, I wanted it! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“It’s quite nice, I can imagine you sitting on it napping or reading one of those comic books you like.”

“Yeah, I’ll sit on it and ignore your calls,” Louis mutters.

Harry laughs loudly. “Oh, angel eyes, you know how to make my heart swoon.”

* * *

**_November 22, 1759_ **

_I want him to know how much he means to the world, to me. He may be small, but happiness has no size. And he is mine._

* * *

**June 2024**

A downcast of liquid sun drips down his skin, bathing him in the warmth. Harry hasn’t felt sunshine in so long, locked in his penthouse to finish his next few projects with a variety of paint and brushes to keep him company. Just from looking at Louis, glimmering and smiling, Harry could almost feel it again.

Harry desperately needed a distraction, he was going mad with lack of inspiration and the same boring walls of his home. As if the world heard his silent pleas, his distraction came to his door with a blueberry slushie and a bag of takeout.

“I brought food and board games.” Louis smiles, waving around the heavy bags.

Harry blinks. Just from seeing Louis, brilliance has begun to swarm Harry’s mind. “Welcome, come in.”

* * *

**_December 5, 1759_ **

_It is winter now. Louis does not mind the cold, he plays in the snow and invites me—I reluctantly accept eventually. He came to my house the other day, he was hungry and we made dinner together._

_He is so soft, with his movements and his words. A pleasant flow of warmth that I had never felt before._

* * *

That night, after sharing Louis’ slushie, munching on Chinese food and playing a few rounds of Monopoly and Scrabble, Harry doesn’t let Louis leave because of how late it was. Harry offers him the master bedroom while he curls up on the couch in the living room with a book in his hands, and he writes until the sun comes up. 

* * *

**_December 24, 1759_ **

_Today was Louis’ birthday._

_We spent the day together. We crossed the frozen river and went on a walk in the quiet forest untouched by the villagers. I held his hand, he held mine and the glee I felt was almost overwhelming._

_I gave him a present—a scarf I knitted. The saleswoman was stubborn and hateful when I purchased the yarn, I had to bribe her. It took me quite some time to finish and I made more mistakes than one, but it is all worth it to see the smile on Louis’ face. He was ecstatic, nearly jumping out of his shoes._

_He kissed me too._

* * *


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TdB6DrYr9YbWMZpqgSDNA?si=Ye-1_kBFQ9i86Ph3P68s8w)
> 
> Songs:
> 
> Sick Of Losing Soulmates - dodie  
> I Want You - Mitski  
> June - Florence And The Machine  
> Heavy In Your Arms - Florence And The Machine  
> The End Of Love - Florence And The Machine  
> the lakes - Taylor Swift  
> Third Eye - Florence + The Machine

* * *

**July 2024**

Harry stands by the door with his hands folded. He watches Louis chat with his friends, wiping his sweaty forehead with a small towel. He’s glowing and he’s full of adrenaline. When he laughs, he goes on his toes, head tossing back as his eyes squeeze shut.

Eventually, when his friends leave, he beckons Harry closer. Greeting him with a sweet kiss, Louis asks him about the performance.

“You were exquisite, hummingbird. Always stealing the show, hm?”

That compliment earns Harry a long cuddle, Louis’ face in the crook of his neck while Harry's nose is buried in his hair. Louis’ hugs are warm and toasty, Harry revels in how it feels against his cold skin.

Louis’ vanity was messy. Brushes and makeup compacts scattered across the surface, books and sheets of paper underneath it all. Two old takeout cups balanced parallel corners. In the frame of his mirror were small photographs and magazine cutouts of people with makeup. Among the mess and sitting at the very top were bouquets of flowers, they were fresh and then the intense scent hit Harry’s nose.

“Are you allergic to pollen?”

“No, I love flowers.” Louis says, “My mother has a garden back home.”

“I will bring you flowers next time, forgive me but I assumed you were allergic.”

The blue-eyed man leans up, pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s cheek. “It’s okay. I used to take naps in the garden when the weather was nice enough.”

* * *

_**J _anuary_ 2, 1760** _

_Oh, Louis. He is the epitome of everything I had ever wanted. My hopes, my dreams, my fantasies, all embodied in a single man._

_His cheeks sprinkled with freckles, he giggles when I kiss him. I cannot help it. He is so beautiful when he laughs, so why not make him laugh every moment of every day?_

_His eyes. His eyes are my favourite. They could drown me in their secrets, and I would thank them._

* * *

**August 2024**

It hadn’t meant to blow up like this. Louis wasn’t meant to find the box underneath Harry’s bed, he wasn’t supposed to read the pages and pages of letters and postcards. He wasn’t supposed to find out about it like this.

* * *

_**January 29, 1760** _

_Louis is my homeland._

* * *

**September 2024**

Harry can’t track him down until a month later. After his endless calls that always went straight to voicemail and text messages left unanswered, Harry decided to take another route. A much more direct one.

He anxiously watches the performance and waits in the ballet theatre as the maintenance crew cleans up afterward. He lingers by the staff door, twiddling his thumbs until he finally catches Louis leaving the dressing rooms.

He looks just as beautiful as he did on stage. Makeup and glitter still on his skin, attracting the light and making his blue eyes seem brighter. He’s wearing leggings and an oversized t-shirt hangs off his small frame, a baseball cap holding back his fringe. Harry just wanted to hold him, wrap him up in his arms and tell him the truth.

“Louis,” He says, pleading almost. “Please, let me explain.”

In place of the stare of adoration is a glare. “Go away. I don’t want to see you right now.”

That hurt far more than a stake through the heart. “Please,” The plead falls on dead ears, Louis is long gone and out the back door. Then, there’s the distant sound of his skateboard along with the numbing shatter of Harry’s heart again.

* * *

**November 2024**

Autumn has rolled around.

“Tell me,” Louis chokes out, hands clenched in fists. "Right now."

It’s late into the night, Harry was drinking away one of the red bottles in his fridge when a rapid knocking at his door startled him. 

"Do you love me?" Louis repeats the question, crossing his arms. 

Harry stands, jaw dropped with eyes wide from when Louis first asked him the question. “Louis, why are you soaking wet? You’re shivering.” He reaches for his arm, but Louis steps back. “Please, you need to change into dry clothes.”

Louis’ clothes were dripping onto the carpet outside Harry’s door. His sweater is heavy on his shoulders, and sweatpants dragging along the floor, pooling around his wet vans.

“No. I’m standing here until you answer my question.”

“Answer mine first. Why are you drenched?”

Louis grits his teeth. “I went for a swim. I needed to think.”

“You went for a swim in your clothes?” Harry gapes, “What on Earth did you need to think about?”

“I was thinking that you’re an asshole who never considered telling me the truth!” Louis shoves him out of the way, stomping into his living room with his fists clenched. “You--Stupid! I hate you!” He huffs, pacing and leaving wet footprints all over the floor. He pauses when Harry shuts the door, he trudges to him, poking him in the chest. “Are—you—in love—with—me?” It’s punctured with each jab of his finger.

“I am.” It’s declared with confidence. Apparently, that was the wrong answer even though it was the truth, because Louis explodes all over again.

“No! I’ve thought about it, and you’re in love with an idea.” Louis spits, “I read those letters, you’re in love with an idea of being with me again—No, an idea of being with someone who isn’t even me.”

Harry looks down at Louis, the sadness and betrayal in his eyes is enough to make his knees tremble.

“I’m sorry I will always love Louis—”

“Not me.” Louis’ voice cracks.

“Him,” Harry clears his throat, “I will always love him, I can’t imagine myself not,” Harry says, face twisted in thought. “I loved him more than anyone, he taught me that I deserved happiness and that beauty was within my reach. He invited me into a world that I watched from the sidelines. If you say I must forget him, I can’t promise that. It will hurt me to not give you what you want but he is a part of me, and to toss him aside would be like killing him a second time.”

Louis’ blue eyes pool with tears, a deep frown etched on his face. His collarbones are prominent with each deep breath he takes. Harry itches to touch him, to comfort him.

“But me loving him does not make me devoted to him—I love him but I am not in love with him, dare I say that those feelings have faded since I met you. I knew from the start that you were different.”

The Louis that Harry met in 1759 was not the Louis that stands before him now. That was clearer than daylight.

“You are a foreign language I had to learn and memorize, one that sounded familiar but was fresh on my tongue. I wanted to know you, this version of you. And you gave me that taste of humanity I had once lost.”

Louis scoffs, turning away.

Harry reaches out, just barely touching his cheek. “When I met you, I fell in love all over again.” He says. “I am not floating anymore, I am flying and it’s—it’s euphoric and calming all in the same breath. And you make me feel like I belong—” Harry tries to catch his eye and relishes in the blue. He peers deeper, beyond his reflection and into the deepest parts under the surface.

* * *

_**March 13, 1760** _

_The townspeople want me to leave. I have nowhere to go, no family to see. They are gone, I have long outlived them. I sit in this house in the forest outside of the village with a dwindling fire as my only company. The night air is whispering to me, what does it want? I have nothing to offer._

_Louis does not want me to leave. So I must stay, but it is not that simple. He speaks of the dangers that lurk in the wilderness outside the village, he tells me of the death that will find me if I leave._

_But he is only wasting his breath and sweet voice, there is no danger outside the village walls, I am the death here._

* * *

**Europe 1760**

_A knock on the door has the pencil falling from Harry’s hand and clattering to the old floorboards. Harry stands and walks to the door with bare feet. He opens it and smiles down at the man._

_Even though days have passed since they’ve last seen each other, he’s as lovely as ever. The moon doesn’t offer much light but Harry can still see those pink lips stretched in a soft smile, the flesh of his cheeks are coloured a cherry colour similar to his nose, it was winter after all._

_He pulls Louis inside and close to the fire, only then does he get a better look at him. “Sweet, have you eaten yet?”_

_Louis wraps his arms around himself, as if that would hide his frail frame. His arms were thinner, his weight loss was strikingly evident in his face, his sunken cheeks. “N-No. Not for a few days.”_

_“Why?”_

_“They deny me.”_

_“Who?”_

_“The market, the farm. They say someone who loves a monster does not need to eat.” Louis’ voice is a whisper over the wind, he looks down and hides away from Harry’s concerned gaze._

_Moments drag into minutes before Harry stands tall, like an intimidating tower. His green eyes tinged black, and lips curled in a snarl. He goes over to the fireplace, adding more wood and returns to bring Louis into bed._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I will go hunting. If they will not give you food, I will.” Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Harry narrows his eyes. “No matter how often they say it, you are not like me. You will not be like me. You need to eat.”_

_Louis sinks into the sheets, the pillow cradles his head. “When will you be back?”_

_Harry kisses his cheek. “Early in the morning. And I will cook for you.” When he pulls away, Louis immediately misses the feeling of his cold skin. He tells him such, and Harry stays with him until he falls asleep. Then he leaves through the front door, jaw unhinged and claws bared._

_It’s a few hours before dawn when Louis rolls out of bed. He walks to the dresser, a shiver crawling up his spine as the cool winter air seeps through the wooden plank walls. He wraps up in a dark brown sweater, the fabric is scratchy but it smells like Harry. He lounges around for a while, trying to teach himself how to knit with Harry’s needles. Eventually, he grows thirsty and takes off to the village for water._

_Louis huffs, the rope is burning his palms but he continues to pull. The awful squeak of the rusted pulley rings in his ears. He hears his name being called and turns to the sound. It is the village head walking alongside his wife, a matching scowl on their lips._

_“Have you come to apologize for your defiance?” The man asks, snow settling in his beard._

_Louis chooses not to answer and pulls the rope faster, almost desperately. It was enough that they were not denying him food and crops, he hopes they won’t do the same with the well water._

_“When he asks you a question, you answer.” The woman gets in his face, and the rope slips from his grasp, the bucket splashing down at the bottom of the well._

_“My love is not defiance.” Louis’ voice almost shakes, his hands clenched by his sides._

_“Their kind has terrorized towns across the land. Our blood, your blood,” the man jabs a finger at him, “has spilt, and it is enough to run the river red. This is the calm before the storm and that monster will devour our town too.”_

_“He is not responsible for the acts of his species.”_

_“Do you serve him? Has he corrupted your mind with his magic?” His wife asks, her tone is cold and more chilling than the wind. “You mustn't be so dim. He sees you as an object, a mere pet.”_

_Louis sends her a narrow glare, the heat building up in his cheeks and down his neck. “You only see what you want so it can fuel your deranged thoughts.”_

_“Why is that? Do you believe he loves you?” She scoffs, “His kind are not capable of such feelings.”_

_“You cannot be certain of things you do not know.” Louis inhales deeply through his nose, gaze flickering between the woman and the crowd’s angry eyes._

_“Your love is nothing but sickening infatuation, an obsession. What you have is a death wish and one you shall receive. Perhaps if he loves you, he will save you.”_

_Louis was ice cold._

_The warmth in his cheeks, under his skin was gone. His lips were blue, almost purple and horribly chapped. Blood staining his clothes and the strands of his sandy hair. Stones surround him like a bed, snow covering him like a blanket. He was bruised and bleeding, lying in an awful red._

_Something washes over Harry, a different kind of cold. A shiver that didn’t come with the snow that fell from the sky. This was a lifeless cold._

_Harry clenches Louis’ hand to his chest, desperately trying to bring an ounce of warmth to his unmoving body. All sounds go muffled, even the words of the older woman lying just as battered and beaten as Louis, but Harry can’t bring himself to look at her. She speaks but he only hears bits and pieces._

_“He will come back to you.”_

_His shoulders shake with despair and fury. He sets his beloved down, so slowly because the mere sight of him is painful. He clenches his teeth and his eyes flash a raging vermillion. Anger bubbling over and spilling into the cracks of his heart, Harry erupts. He lashes out at everything in sight. The screams, the bones crushing and limbs tearing are quiet whispers, they’re muted among the repeated shatter of Harry’s unbeating heart over and over again._

_Humans have poked and prodded at him, with each repulsive glare and with every blind assumption. They tempted him when refusing to serve his beloved and now they’ve made him snap._

_He strikes to kill, to dismantle and to annihilate. He didn’t care who it was, they all looked the same in his eyes. They were all guilty, still holding stones that had ripped his beloved away. They deserved this. They did._

_He's gone so long without the taste of fresh human blood that the worst day of his life is also a grand feast._

_Harry hunts them down. Breaking down doors and shattering windows, tearing into them where they stand like a savage. Some try to run away yet they’re unaware that Harry has spent most of his days in those very woods. He finds a man, desperately swimming across the lake. He begs for his life but it falls on deaf ears. Harry snaps his neck, a crack sounding over the rushing water of the lake. He drops them, the body floats alongside a severed head as they drift down the current._

_Silence rings through the winter winds. The pungent smell of blood almost as crisp as the wind._

_And the white snow and lake water is coloured bright red._

* * *

**“I felt guilty**

**for the swan**

**as if death**

**were a thing of shame**

**and like a fool**

**I walked away**

**and left them**

**my beautiful swan.”**

**-Charles Bukowski, the swan**

* * *

“As the decades dragged on, I understood that he could be different when I met him again. Although I prepared myself for the unfamiliarity, I seemed to forget that my beloved may not want me.”

The outside wind dances among the silence, the cold air flowing through the opened balcony doors and carrying the scent of the city. Harry gives himself the opportunity to memorize Louis one last time. The sky reflects in the whites of his eyes, shadows cast on his skin and the moon highlighting his cheekbones. His gaze travels down to the delicate dip of his cupid bow and the slightest stubble on his chin.

“I lay myself down to you and I know I belong to you.” Harry chokes on a breath and his eyes are shiny with tears, “but if you do not want me, you may set off and I will give you all my blessings.”

It hurt to promise to set his soulmate free, but if this was what Louis wanted—he will get it.

“You were never a second chance to me—you are, and always will be, a new beginning. I promise that will not contact you, but please allow me to think of you from time to time.” Harry purses his lips, hands clasped before him. “And, if I get your graces, please allow me to write to you like I did before.”

Louis doesn’t speak, he was shaking like a leaf and Harry wanted to dress him in his love. 

* * *

**November 3, 2024**

_Dear Louis,_

_I am writing to you_ — _and it feels all too familiar because I have done so for decades. I am thankful you stayed instead of going home this late. I do not know how many times I have written and scrapped this same letter tonight. I feel as if I cannot get it right. But if you get this one, then I suppose I succeeded._

There were three sheets of paper clipped together. It was old, Louis could tell from the yellow-orange tint and faded graphite sketches. They were smudged with age and watermarks, crinkled at the corners and smelling like leather. Louis squints, making out an arm and a leg, maybe a tree that has since melted into the paper's surface.

_He was too shy to allow me to draw him, but I figured how to sneak a few sketches every now and then._

~~_You_ ~~ _He caught me eventually._

At the very corner of each paper was Harry’s signature, much smaller than on the canvases on museum walls. Right next to it was a three-letter word.

**_Lou_.**

_I have loved you once and lost you. I walked the surface with guilt, shame and despair for almost three centuries. Histories of blurring colours behind me as I waited for you to return to me. But I have not been a fair and honest man to you._

_The box outside the bedroom door holds my journals for as long as I could remember and he is in all of them. Even if he were not on Earth, he was in my heart. I wrote to him about the world, how innovation spearheaded society and I wrote to him postcards every time I was in a new city. Writing to him was the lullaby I needed._

_You may read them if you wish, they say more than I can. It occurred to me that I sometimes had been treating you like a second chance and not a new beginning. My little bird, I deeply apologize for it._

_I was blinded by your presence and failed to see the fine line between the man I once knew and the man in front of me. He is not you, and you are not him. I feel as if I have failed you._

_You are very different from him but your soul feels all the same. Qualities have since changed, the familiar clumsiness I loved has evolved into grace and elegance that has me mesmerized while you perform on stage. Quiet and timid nature has grown into loud and lively spirits. He was allergic to pollen, you nap in gardens and buy fresh bouquets every Sunday. He was shy and reserved, you are fiery and shameless._

_Time may be the one to blame, but you shine more vividly than I remember he did. Possibly, my loneliness could be to blame as well?_

_A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice._

_If this is the end, it has been an honourable journey, my hummingbird. And, I do not regret meeting you as you are. But I do regret treating you like you were him._

— _Yours (if you still want me),_

_Harry._

_— P.S. you are free to stay as long as you like but please come out to eat and get something to drink._

* * *

Louis exits the bedroom a few hours later.

Harry sits at the grand piano, fingers dancing along the keys as the sounds bounce off the walls. A white dressing gown hangs off him, one half was off his shoulder and the other half down his arm. He’s too deep in his mind, thinking over and over about his mistakes and regrets that suffocated him.

“I want flowers delivered to my door every Tuesday.”

Harry jumps, his playing goes off-key before he stands. “Yes, of course.”

Louis is wearing the same clothes as last night, but they’re wrinkled and smell and awfully like old wet fabric. His cheeks have lost that rose, as if the colour had bled into his eyes instead.

“They have to be different. I don't want lilies two weeks in the row."

“Of course.” Harry clasps his hands to keep from running to him.

“I also want, uh,” Louis looks around, he bites his lip. “I want candles, the ones you have. I like the smell.”

“I will get them for you.”

“Are you going to give me everything I want?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation.

“Then, I want you to tell me what you want too.”

“What I want?”

Louis frowns. “That’s how relationships work, Harry. A two-way street, mutual effort and openness. Openness, vulnerability.”

“Vulnerability.” Harry echoes. “Okay. I can do that.”

“I want other things too. I want you to draw me.” Louis steps on his own feet, curling his toes, “I want a cat too, don’t know if I want a munchkin or a Scottish fold but I want a cat.”

“If you ask, I will give you planets, hummingbird.”

“I want the stars.”

“You shall expect them next week.”

* * *

**“The curious feeling**

**swam through him**

**that everything**

**was**

**beautiful**

**there,**

**that it would always**

**stay beautiful**

**there.”**

**-Charles Bukowski, nirvana**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, it's done. i loved this prompt so much, and I hope you all enjoyed it.  
> i rushed this ending because i had no clue how to write it, i'm sorry to disappoint but at some point, i'll come back to this fic and give it all it deserves. 
> 
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> 
> :^) thank you for reading


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